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The common death of all,

The life renewed above,
And both within the scheme
Of that all-circling love.

The seeming chance that cast us hither,
Accomplishes his whence and whither.

Then, though the sun go up
His beaten azure way,
God may fulfill his thought,
And bless his world to-day;
Beside the law of things

The law of mind enthrone,
And, for the hope of all,

Reveal himself in one;

Himself the way that leads us thither,
The All-in-all, the Whence and Whither.

FRANCIS T. PALGRAVE.

Ο

The Ascension.

UR Lord is risen from the dead,
Our Jesus is gone up on high;
The powers of hell are captive led,
Dragged to the portals of the sky.

There his triumphal chariot waits,
And angels chant the solemn lay!
"Lift
up your heads, ye heavenly gates!
Ye everlasting doors, give way!

"Loose all your bars of massy light,

And wide unfold the ethereal scene;
He claims these mansions as his right;-
Receive the King of Glory in !"

GETHSEMANE.

Who is the King of Glory, who?—

The Lord that all our foes o'ercame :
The world, sin, death, and hell o'erthrew,
And Jesus is the Conqueror's name.

Lo! his triumphal chariot waits,
And angels chant the solemn lay;
"Lift up your heads, ye heavenly gates!
Ye everlasting doors, give way!"

Who is the King of Glory, who?—

The Lord of boundless power possessed;

The King of saints and angels too;

God over all, forever blessed!

CHARLES WESLEY.

I

Gethsemane.

READ how, in Gethsemane,

The suffering Saviour bowed the knee: My tears fell fast upon the book,

It was so grandly sad to read

Of Him, in darkness, grief, and need—
It seemed to me that I could look

Through all thy shades, Gethsemane,
And see the One who died for me.

I too had my Gethsemane :

The hour of darkness came to me,
And none was by to watch or aid :

In grief and fear I drank, alas,
The bitter cup that would not pass-
Then like my Lord I knelt and prayed,
And in my own Gethsemane

I found the One who died for me.
WILLIAM O. STODDARD.

369

G

Pilgrimage.

IVE me my scallop-shell of quiet,
My staffe of faith to walk upon,
My scrip of joye-immortal diet-
My bottle of salvation,

My gown of glory, hope's true gage;
-And thus I take my pilgrimage.

Blood must be my body's balmer,
While my soul, like peaceful palmer,
Travelleth towards the land of heaven;
Other balm will not be given.

Over the silver mountains,

Where spring the nectar fountains,

There will I kiss

The bowle of blisse,

And drink mine everlasting fill

Upon every milken-hill :

My soul will be a-dry before;

But after that will thirst no more.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

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LITANY.

By Thy helpless infant years;
By Thy life of want and tears;
By Thy days of sore distress,
In the savage wilderness;
By the dread, mysterious hour
Of the insulting tempter's power-
Turn, O turn a favoring eye-
Hear our solemn Litany!

By the sacred griefs that wept
O'er the grave where Lazarus slept;
By the boding tears that flowed
Over Salem's loved abode;
By the anguished sigh that told
Treachery lurked within the fold-
From Thy seat above the sky
Hear our solemn Litany!

By Thine hour of dire despair;
By Thine agony of prayer;
By the cross, the wail, the thorn,
Piercing spear, and torturing scorn;
By the gloom that yeiled the skies
O'er the dreadful sacrifice---
Listen to our humble cry:
Hear our solemn Litany!

By Thy deep expiring groan;
By the sad sepulchral stone;
By the vault whose dark abode
Held in vain the rising God!
O! from earth to heaven restored,
Mighty, reascended Lord—

Listen, listen to the cry

Of our solemn Litany!

SIR ROBERT GRANT.

371

A

The Stranger.

POOR wayfaring man of grief

Hath often crossed me on my way,

Who sued so humbly for relief

That I could never answer

66

Nay.”

I had not power to ask his name,
Whither he went, or whence he came;
Yet there was something in his eye
That won my love,-I knew not why.

Once, when my scanty meal was spread,
He entered. Not a word he spake.
Just perishing for want of bread,

I gave him all; he blessed it, brake,
And ate ;-but gave me part again.
Mine was an angel's portion then ;
For while I fed with eager haste,
That crust was manna to my taste.

I spied him where a fountain burst
Clear from the rock; his strength was gone;
The heedless water mocked his thirst;

He heard it, saw it hurrying on.

I ran to raise the sufferer up;

Thrice from the stream he drained my cup,
Dipped, and returned it running o'er;
I drank and never thirsted more.

'Twas night; the floods were out,-it blew

A winter hurricane aloof;

I heard his voice abroad, and flew

To bid him welcome to my roof;

I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest-
Laid him on my own couch to rest;
Then made the earth my bed, and seemed
In Eden's garden while I dreamed.

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